Azashiro Sōya — unrivaled under heaven — had fallen.
Watching that spirit body gradually dissolve into the air, Saitō the Undying stood frozen for a moment, jaw dropping open.
A fighter of that caliber, ending their own life so carelessly — and all just to descend into the very Hell they'd have given anything to escape?!
"Ha…" "Hahahahahaha——!"
Saitō the Undying broke into laughter that bordered on hysteria. She laughed so hard her whole body shook, shoulders heaving violently, pulling at the wounds that had yet to heal. Black Spirit Particle blood seeped through the gaps in her torn flesh, staining the already-tattered old-style captain's haori pitch black.
"Interesting… now that is genuinely interesting…"
"Learning the truth of Hell, and rather than flinching — diving straight in of your own accord…"
"I've seen precious few like that, hahahaha…"
After a long moment, she raised a hand and wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, kneading the aching muscles of her face.
At that same moment, the Captain-Commander stood in silence, brow deeply furrowed, staring at the place where Azashiro Sōya had once existed.
In life, Azashiro Sōya had been an immensely troublesome, ideologically extreme genius. A fighter of the 2nd Spiritual Rank descending into Hell — eroded by that place's endless grudges and miasma — only the heavens knew what kind of monster he would become.
"All right, the comedy's over."
Saitō the Undying seemed to have laughed her fill. Ignoring the blood still trickling from her wounds, she swiftly raised her Zanpakutō and pressed the blade against her own slender throat.
The manic grin remained fixed on her face as her gaze swept across the Captain-Commander and Soifon:
"I couldn't beat you two on my own, sure… but I did manage to collect quite a bit of interesting new intelligence on the Three Worlds."
"I'll share it with my friends down below when I get back to Hell."
"Farewell, Yamamoto Shigekuni — and you, that short, flat-chested one called Soifon. We'll be seeing each other again before long…."
The blade pressed against the skin of her throat — and stopped in the very instant it began to tighten.
Saitō the Undying's grin froze on her face. Her wrists, without her noticing when, had been seized from behind by a pair of hands and locked in an iron grip.
Crack!!
"What——?!"
Before Saitō could react in any way, she felt a searing pain shoot through her wrists — a brittle crunch of shattering bone rang out. Soifon had crushed the bones in both of Saitō's hands with raw force, leaving her wrists dangling uselessly. The Zanpakutō slipped from her fingers and plunged cleanly into the sand.
Soifon swept her right leg, and Saitō — robbed of her balance — dropped to both knees in the sand, whereupon Soifon locked a hand around her throat, leaving her completely immobilized.
Saitō didn't even have time to cry out. She simply turned her head to look at the petite figure who had somehow materialized right behind her.
"Quick reflexes…" A flicker of genuine admiration passed through her eyes. "That Shunpo — are you Second Division?"
Soifon didn't answer. She pressed Saitō flat against the ground, then clapped both hands together in front of her chest: "Bakudō #99 — Kin."
Several enormous cloth strips descended from above like living things, coiling around Saitō's limbs and torso.
Hard on their heels came a row of thick, elongated iron spikes engraved with seal markings — they pierced through the cloth strips and straight through Saitō's spirit body, pinning her entire form to the ground.
Saitō the Undying tested the restraints. The seals didn't budge a millimeter.
"If you're going to kill me, get on with it."
"I won't say a word. Give it up."
"Kill me and I'll just resurrect in Hell anyway. You think you can pry Hell's secrets out of me? Keep dreaming!"
She wriggled like a worm and spat a mouthful of sand, making her resignation to the situation abundantly clear.
The Captain-Commander stepped forward, looked down at this former comrade-in-arms, and issued his judgment without hesitation: "Bring her back to the Seireitei, Captain Soifon."
Seireitei — First Division Conference Hall.
Not much time had passed since the last emergency meeting, yet the Captain-Commander had once again convened a captains' council.
The captains, wearing expressions of every conceivable variety, stood arrayed on either side. They had long since lost count of how many emergency captains' councils had been called this year. The Aizen Rebellion, the Wandenreich Invasion… and now, on top of everything else — Hell.
It was as though centuries of accumulated turmoil across the Three Worlds had chosen to erupt all at once within the span of this single year.
At the center of the conference hall, the purple twin-tailed girl — bound in layer upon layer of restraints — had been sealed immobile in place. The tattered Shihakushō and captain's haori on her body, the black Spirit Particle markings threading across her skin — all of it radiated the unmistakable aura of Hell.
She swept her gaze around the room, taking in these unfamiliar, youthful captain faces.
"Hey hey — this is the current Gotei 13? What happened to all the seats? Did you lose that many people?"
"Yamamoto, is this what happens when you can't maintain a talent pipeline? Should you consider recruiting some veteran staff back from Hell to fill your rosters?"
"And is that child labor I see? You're even making someone that small a captain now?"
"Soifon, you flat-chested little runt! If you've got the nerve, give me a clean death! Send me back to Hell!"
Saitō the Undying was utterly foul-mouthed, hurling every piece of verbal garbage she could think of to provoke the assembled captains.
Tōshirō Hitsugaya's temple throbbed with a visible vein as he physically restrained the urge to draw his sword.
Then Saitō's gaze continued to move — sweeping past Soifon's ice-cold expression — and came to a dead stop on the face of Unohana Retsu.
Her eyes went wide. Her gaze locked onto that gentle figure draped in long black hair: "You… you — are you Yachiru?"
Unohana Retsu paid her no mind, merely tilting her head slightly, those perpetually serene eyes meeting Saitō's stare with calm composure.
Saitō the Undying went rigid, as though struck by lightning.
She stared up and down at Unohana Retsu, the way one might stare at a complete stranger: "You're really Yachiru?"
"How did you end up like this? What on earth have you been through all these years?"
"I can't help feeling like this place is even more like Hell than actual Hell…"
To think that someone had actually transformed the legendary [Death Sword] into the person she saw now — it was simply terrifying!
While those few were engaged in this strange exchange of reminiscences, a string of weird, damp, creeping laughter sounded from directly behind Saitō.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi had slipped away from his seat at some unknown point and was now crouched at Saitō the Undying's side, gazing at the black blood seeping from her wounds with an expression of near-religious reverence.
With painstaking care, he extended a gloved finger — the glove made from some specialized material — dipped it into the small pool of black blood that had yet to dry on the floor, and transferred a tiny amount into a clear glass vial he had evidently prepared in advance.
He held the little vial up to the light and turned it over and over, examining it. The black liquid inside emitted an ominous luminescence under the light.
"Black Spirit Particle blood… utterly devoid of any detectable Reiatsu fluctuation…"
"A genuine Hell specimen… oh ho ho…"
His voice trembled faintly with excitement, his features twisting into a grin.
Saitō the Undying went completely stiff.
She turned her head and fixed Mayuri Kurotsuchi — who was right in her face — with a look of supreme revulsion, as though regarding some malformed creature that had no business existing in this world.
"Yamamoto." She spoke, her voice laced with unconcealed disgust. "Your Gotei 13 is actually recruiting this kind of specimen now?"
In the end, Saitō the Undying — who had been put on display like a performing monkey — was handed over to Soifon by the Captain-Commander, with orders to use "whatever means necessary" and extract every scrap of intelligence on Hell.
Second Division — Interrogation Room.
Creak —
A door carrying the smell of rust and blood swung open, and Soifon walked into the interrogation room alone.
Saitō the Undying's wounds had stopped bleeding. Though Hell's aura had an erosive effect on the beings of the Three Worlds, a Shinigami's Kaidō could still heal the injuries of Hell's creatures.
That really was unbearably cheap.
"Speak. What's your standing in Hell — for someone at your level?"
Soifon grabbed Saitō by the chin and forced her to make direct eye contact.
"You're the small fry, not me!"
"I happen to be someone who calls the shots down in Hell, you know — this time you just had the advantage of numbers…"
Saitō spat — but Soifon sidestepped it with effortless reflexes.
Hearing that answer, the tension strung through Soifon's chest eased considerably. Then she answered with a backhand slap.
Smack —
A vivid red handprint bloomed across Saitō's left cheek, burning hot.
"Is that so… someone as pathetic as you actually calls the shots?"
Soifon's face wore an expression of utter contempt. "Then Hell isn't anything to be afraid of. And for the record — we will not be performing the [Soul Burial Rite] for Azashiro Sōya."
Saitō gave an indifferent little smile:
"You don't actually think that just by skipping the [Soul Burial Rite], Azashiro Sōya, Gin Ichimaru, and Kaname Tōsen — who all died in Hueco Mundo — won't end up in Hell, do you?"
"If that's what you believe, you are very, very wrong."
"Hell lies beneath the Three Worlds. When a spirit body of the 3rd Spiritual Rank or above dies, the Reiatsu is too immense to simply disperse — it wanders untethered through the Three Worlds, and without a spirit body to contain it, that powerful Reiatsu will, over time, gradually sink down into Hell."
"How did you think those who had no one to perform the [Soul Burial Rite] for them ended up in Hell in the first place?"
After relaying every piece of intelligence gathered from the interrogation word for word, the Captain-Commander sank into prolonged silence.
Even someone at Saitō's level ranked in the upper-mid tier down there — which meant Hell's creatures were not overwhelmingly powerful, and remained within manageable parameters.
The truly troublesome factors were just two: the immortality, and the undetectable Reiatsu.
The Captain-Commander lifted his gaze to Soifon: "What are your thoughts?"
Soifon answered at once: "I need to conduct a Soul Burial Rite."
His gaze sharpened. The Captain-Commander looked at Soifon, waiting for her to continue.
"During the Soul Burial Rite, we actively channel the Reiatsu of those who have recently fallen at the 3rd Spiritual Rank or above — Azashiro Sōya, Gin Ichimaru, Kaname Tōsen — and send it into Hell."
"The Gates of Hell have cracked due to the Reiatsu imbalance. The Soul Burial Rite will force that crack open wider."
"At that point, the Gates of Hell will definitely manifest again — and in the moment that crack opens, I charge through, and cut them all down…"
While Hell's creatures couldn't be killed permanently, being killed still required a certain amount of time before they could reaggregate into spirit bodies again.
It wouldn't fix the underlying problem — but it could at least ease the immediate situation temporarily.
"Absolutely not. That's completely reckless."
The Captain-Commander pressed a hand to his brow. "What if the Gates of Hell close behind you once you're inside? If you end up eroded into a Hell creature as well, the Three Worlds will be finished."
That was a fair point… Soifon had no rebuttal, and couldn't think of one in the moment.
Just when she thought the proposal had hit a dead end, the situation took an unexpected turn.
"However — allow this old man to suggest a slight modification…"
Passive defense had never been the Gotei 13's style. Hell's seals had already loosened; this time a Saitō had come out, and there was no telling what ancient monster might emerge next time.
They couldn't afford to be so afraid of the Gates of Hell loosening that they dared not draw their blades when the enemy came.
And so the Captain-Commander chose his words carefully:
"When the Gates of Hell open again, this old man shall go to the front alongside you."
"The two of us will fight at range using our Zanpakutō techniques. I believe your Jashaku Raikōben is well suited to that kind of tactic."
Rukongai — the open wilderness.
On a stretch of empty wasteland, a temporary altar stood in quiet stillness.
At the altar's center, several captured Menos Grande had been bound in layer upon layer of Bakudō seals, their massive bodies curled up on themselves, capable of nothing more than howls of impotent rage.
Ise Nanao stood at the head of the altar, her expression solemn and reverent, conducting the ritual procedures required for the Soul Burial Rite on her own.
Several hundred meters away, the captains of the Gotei 13 were scattered at intervals high above in the air, each occupying an advantageous position, eyes fixed unblinkingly on every blade of grass and stone in their surroundings.
"How much longer?"
Zaraki Kenpachi let out a bored yawn.
The ritual gradually approached its conclusion.
At the altar's center, the Menos Grande began to thrash violently as blue Spirit Particle flames ignited across their bodies, consuming their forms bit by bit.
Finally, the body of the last Menos Grande dissolved into Spirit Particle fragments and scattered into the air.
All that remained on the altar was a patch of scorched black marks.
The ritual was over.
They waited more than ten minutes. Nothing happened.
The captains' taut nerves began to loosen — perhaps the Reiatsu just sent down hadn't yet reached the threshold needed to force the Gates of Hell open?
And then.
Splat —
A jet of blood erupted from Zaraki Kenpachi's shoulder!
"What——?!"
Every head turned at once.
Behind Zaraki Kenpachi — appearing from no one knew when — stood a pitch-black figure.
The figure was massive as a mountain, swathed in thick black death energy, wielding an enormous battle-axe taller than a man. The axe blade still dripped with Zaraki Kenpachi's blood.
The former Espada #2 — Barragan.
And behind that figure, an enormous gate radiating ominous energy had materialized in the wilderness at the captains' backs — no one had noticed when it had appeared.
The gate stood ajar, a gap wide enough for three people to pass through side by side, and it was slowly — visibly — continuing to open.
"Hey."
"Not bad — a visitor from Hell!"
Zaraki Kenpachi glanced down at his spurting shoulder and let the corners of his mouth curl slowly into a grin.
He spun and swung his Zanpakutō in a single motion — the blade wrapped in savage Reiatsu cleaved straight down toward the black figure behind him!
Clang——
Sparks flew everywhere. The battle-axe held firm, catching the Zanpakutō dead on.
The thunderous crash of steel on steel detonated above the wasteland, the shockwave rolling outward in surging waves of force, sending every pebble and blade of grass in the vicinity flying.
Far from being driven back by Zaraki Kenpachi's ferocious assault, Barragan hadn't retreated so much as a single step — he hung there perfectly steady in the air.
Every captain present went still.
What kind of monster was this — capable of meeting Zaraki Kenpachi head-on, at full power, blade for blade, this many times?!
"Everyone!"
"Surround the Gates of Hell!"
The Captain-Commander's voice cracked like thunder, snapping the captains' attention back to the moment.
Several white-clad figures appeared in near-unison around the Gates of Hell, swords drawn, staring with wary alertness at the Barragan standing before them.
After driving Zaraki Kenpachi back with that single axe strike, Barragan ceased his assault.
Black death energy roiled and churned around him. The bleached-white skull crown floated above his head, black flames burning in hollow eye sockets.
Only when every captain had taken position — swords drawn and ready — did he speak, with evident satisfaction:
"So many people come to welcome this king?"
"Have you all come to pay homage to the King of Hueco Mundo?"
Barragan seemed to be thoroughly enjoying being the center of everyone's attention.
The Gates of Hell continued to open behind him. The black miasma poured from the gap like a living thing, curling around him, merging with his own death energy into a single seamless whole.
Zaraki Kenpachi moved to charge again, but Shunsui Kyōraku raised a hand to stop him: "Wait, Zaraki."
"Tch."
Zaraki Kenpachi clicked his tongue in irritation, but ultimately held back. He simply fixed his burning gaze on Barragan, battle-lust blazing in his eyes.
Barragan scanned the captains arrayed before him — until his gaze landed on the petite figure standing beside the Captain-Commander.
The black flames in his hollow eye sockets flared with a sudden surge of energy: "So you're here too, Soifon."
Barragan paused, then threw his head back in a piercing, grating laugh:
"Gwahahahaha!"
"Surprised, aren't you — that I would return from Hell!"
"I am nothing like I was! Hell's miasma has made me stronger, made me more perfect!"
"This time, I will not lose to a rat like you!"
Soifon listened to Barragan's self-aggrandizing speech without a flicker of reaction on her face. She turned her head toward the elderly man beside her: "May we begin, Captain-Commander?"
The Captain-Commander nodded: "Granted."
The moment those words fell, Barragan's arrogant grin vanished, replaced by fury.
— How dare they ignore the great King of Hueco Mundo, Barragan!
He thrust out a hand, dense black death energy coalescing in his palm: "Die, you rat!!"
His aging miasma surged like a dam breaking open, pouring down toward Soifon's position — wherever that aura passed, the grass on the ground yellowed and rotted in an instant.
Boom——!!!
Golden Reiatsu erupted skyward!
Soifon threw both arms wide open, and a Reiatsu storm like a howling gale erupted from her entire body — grinding the oncoming aging miasma to dust and washing it away. — Shunkō, at its limitless peak.
"Did you really think you were the only one who's grown stronger, Barragan?"
"This time, I don't even need Bankai to deal with you."
Soifon's voice cut clearly through the roaring wind and reached Barragan's ears.
"Insolence — DIE!"
Those words struck the rawest nerve in Barragan. Both hands shot up, and his aging miasma poured forth in an overwhelming, all-consuming wave.
The next instant, Soifon's entire body transformed into a streak of golden light and shot straight into that sky-swallowing torrent of black death energy.
The howling gale, saturated with her golden Reiatsu, ground every last wisp of the black death energy to nothing — dissolving and evaporating it like snow under a blazing sun.
In the blink of an eye, Soifon's figure had already materialized directly in front of Barragan.
Bam — bam — bam ——
Even the Captain-Commander could not track the speed of Soifon's fists. Her arms blurred into afterimages and vanished, and a torrent of strikes swallowed Barragan's form whole.
The howling gale detonated on contact with Barragan, erupting into countless razor-fine wind blades — nearly invisible to the naked eye — slicing through his spirit body in a frenzied onslaught.
Barragan didn't even have time to scream. Black Spirit Particle fragments scattered in every direction, and then — as if drawn by a magnet — coalesced into a wisp of black smoke that was swallowed into the Gates of Hell.
On the battlefield, only the half-open Gates of Hell remained, standing silently in place. The black phosphor-gas seeping from the crack continued to churn without a sound.
"And that's… settled?"
The captains who had gripped their Zanpakutō in readiness for a brutal fight now stood, swords drawn, staring blankly into the middle distance.
____
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